Shatter
by alaricnomad
Summary: Peter/Claire. Can the harshness of reality overcome the power of destiny? ONESHOT.


A/N: Inspired by the fan-movie trailer of the same name, created to DawnoftheDusk, who was kind enough to let me write a fic at least vaguely based on it. It can be found on Youtube. I can't put the link here, but Shatter Fanmovie Trailer will pull it up for you. Take a look. It's excellent.

**--Shatter--**

Peter Petrelli had always been a dreamer, but even he had his doubts about the idea of love at first sight. But then destiny decided to step into his life in more ways than one.

"_Save the cheerleader, save the world."_

His life changed forever.

Their bodies collided in a hallway. He gently grasped her forearms for a brief moment, hoping he hadn't knocked her off-balance. He gave her a sheepish apology, hearing the same from her and seeing the shy smile she gave him as he looked up. It was a pretty smile, he dully noted, and then he raised his head in time for their eyes to meet.

A moment frozen in time.

She was like a sudden rush of fresh air, a stirring in his soul. The first breath of springtime after the wintry cold of his uncertainty. Curls and skin like gold and honey, shining before his eyes like sunshine. Eyes green as life itself, soft as clovers and rich as emerald. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

"_Hey, what's your name?"_

"_Peter."_

"_I'm Claire."_

"_I just…I knew I had to save you."_

"_Why?"_

"_To save the world."_

His heart leapt in his throat when he realized she was in danger, even more when she proved to be safe. It pounded with nervous staccato as they spoke, and then nearly burst from his chest with her parting words. _"You're totally my hero."_

A feeling of numb, floating pleasure. To feel her smile, the warmth flooding over him once more like the revelation of a sunrise. He was in a dream, one he ever wanted to wake up from again. She looked at him as if he was larger-than-life, as if he could hang the moon and stars into the skies above them. No one, not even Simone, had ever looked at them that way. And he knew, deep down, that no one would ever look at him the same way again. Not in that same way.

He had never believed in love at first sight. And then he met this special, special girl.

"I've been in love with you, since the moment I first laid eyes on you."

Peter couldn't remember the last time he had been this nervous. Anticipation and a not entirely unpleasant feeling of fear welled up inside, tightening his throat, knotting his stomach, confounding any sense of rationality in his mind. It rendered him frozen as he stood before his cheerleader, the awkwardness of his confession hanging in the air between them.

Her expression was shell-shocked, her mouth opening once, and then closing again with her uncertainty of how to respond to him.

"Peter…can we…" she looked away, biting her lip nervously, "Can we really do this?"

He took a hesitant step forward, gently taking her hand. She shivered under the touch and he frowned, rubbing her arms as if to warm her. It was her eyes that warmed, shyly revealing the feeling she was so afraid to pursue with him. "It wouldn't be easy. It's okay if you don't want…I know I'm older, and I'm all the way in New York, but I-"

She cut him off by bracing a hand against his chest, leaning up on her tiptoes to softly press her lips to his. "I do want, Peter. I want this. I want you."

His smile was brilliant as the sun, and she found herself wanting to never let it fade.

----

Peter was unlike any man she had ever met.

His heart was deep and loyal. His adoration was burning, almost overwhelming in its intensity, but at the same time, soft and loving in its warmth. His love, reverent, gentle, attentive. In Peter's eyes, she was beautiful, perfect; in his arms, she wanted for nothing, for he gave her anything and everything she could ever need. The glow of him wrapped around her in constant affection, keeping her safe for always. When she had him, she had him completely. Peter held nothing back. He loved her, and so he loved her with everything he was.

His touches, soft.

Calloused hands touched her with the utmost tenderness, like she was something fragile. He touched her like she was a priceless treasure he could hardly believe was there.

His eyes, loving.

The way he looked at her…sometimes she felt as if his passion was meant to spark a tangible flame between them. Even with the strength of his desire, his eyes never held anything but warmth and love. Like she was the most wonderful thing to have ever stepped into his life. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

His words, poetry.

His lips brushing against hers, "Love you. More than you could ever know."

Butterfly kisses down her neck and shoulder. "You are so beautiful."

Fingers stroking softly against her skin. The shyness he dismissed. "Perfect. You're perfect."

Hands gliding down her back, gently cradling her hips. "I know why I had to save you now. _You _are my world."

The careful move of him inside her, a whispering of adoring words against her nape. "You're everything now. You know that, don't you?"

Her cries of finish, his strong arms around her. "I'm here."

A mantra of his name, tears she couldn't help. "Shh. It's okay. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Snuggling into his embrace, pressing her ear against his chest to feel the rhythm of his heartbeat. "Promise?"

His mouth pressing against her throat, his breath heated as he made his whispered vows. "I promise. I'm yours now, Claire. Forever."

----

"_He saved my life. Forgot to mention that we were related."_

"_Oh, he didn't know."_

Why, why, oh why, did she have to go press so hard for the truth? Why had she dug so hard into the past? Why couldn't she

Secret kisses in the dark, desperate to still feel each other despite knowing they shared the same blood. They parted breathless and she gasped against his shirt, "This is crazy."

He let out a humorless laugh, unable to resist wrapping his arm around her. "I know," he agreed, voice hoarse and throaty.

He hated to see her cry. But she couldn't seem to stop, clinging to him, face buried in his chest as she repeated apologies in low, choked sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Don't," he kissed her hair, held her desperately close, "Don't be sorry. None of this is your fault. Any blame for this rests on me."

She looked up at him, with sorrowful, watery eyes, and shook her head. "No. Please, Peter. If you talk like that, it makes you sound like you regret it."

"No, no, of course not," he cupped her face, stroking his fingers against her cheek, "I'll only ever be sorry for this. Just this. I will never, ever, regret loving you." He lowered his lips to hers, a last chance to taste her before the other half of his soul was torn from him.

A kiss. A simple, gentle goodbye kiss was what sealed their fates then.

And they shattered.

----

"Truth is, you have no idea what's going to happen."

She was angry, so angry. They had been caught, and yet he seemed so calm, so collected. He had seen the same thing, hadn't he? Angela interrupting them in the bedroom, where a goodbye kiss had escalated into something more beyond their control, the natural heat between them being a perpetual weakness for them both.

Peter had his back to her, seemingly nonchalant as he silently buttoned up his shirt, tucking the tails back into his slacks, the only sound between them being the soft click of his belt buckle as he did it up. "Just calm down, Claire. It'll be fine."

When he looked back at her over his shoulder, however, his calm reassurance was negated by a flicker of fear in his eyes. Claire scoffed then, pushing back the need to rush back into his arms with a sense of indignant anger. "You're scared, and you're telling me I have nothing to worry about?"

"Yeah, I am. I'm terrified. But I thought, that maybe just for a second, you would trust me!!"

They were both breathing heavily, and this time, the spark in Peter's gaze faded to something else, a hurt and heartbreak stronger than what she had seen when they realized their relation. At least then, they knew they may have been no longer lovers, but they could still have each other as family. Now, with the misbalance of hostility and mistrust between them, there was a danger of losing each other all together. "I thought, that you could trust that I would protect you from anything. No matter what. That the trust you've had in me all these weeks could be unconditional. I guess I was wrong."

He faded from view and she fell back onto the bed, ignoring the disheveled sheets as she cursed herself, him and anything else she could think of to the ceiling above her.

----

The moment she saw the shuttered expression on her bio-father's face, Claire knew the sinking sensation in her stomach and her feelings of trepidation were more than justified. Angela's disgust the position she had caught her son and granddaughter in was made more than obvious, and she had immediately started in on her demand to ship Claire off to Paris. Peter had disappeared after their argument, disgruntling her that he had left her to face this alone. Nathan asked her to his office not long afterward, and here they were.

Before she knew what she was doing, the whole story was spilling out. How she and Peter and met, how they hadn't know of their blood relation, how they had developed feelings and become involved. With each word she spoke, the more uneasy and unreadable Nathan's expression grew, and finally he fell back into his chair, steepling his fingers with a heavy sigh. "My God…"

Claire gave him a pitiful look. "Yeah."

He scrubbed a hand over his face, attempting to balance himself. "Okay. I get it…to a point," his voice was strangled, but he still attempted to reassure her, "I'm not mad. But this is just…" He trailed off, burying his hands in his short hair as he faltered for explanation, "My brother," he muttered under his breath, "Of all people…why us?"

He licked his lips, standing up to hesitantly approach her. "Claire…I…I want to be there for you. But…I can't. Not now."

Claire's heart dropped and she blinked back tears, but she still gave him an understanding nod. "Of course."

"I have to agree with your grandmother on one thing. I think it's best we get you away for a while. It'll give all of us time…to process all this." He nodded to himself, pleased to have finally come to a sort of decision. "Yeah, that's it. I just need time. We need time."

He hugged her, and though it wasn't as comfortable as either would have hoped, in the back of each of their minds, they hoped it to get better the next time around. "I don't want you to think I don't care, Claire. Because I do. Very much. We'll just…soon, okay?"

"Okay," Claire whispered in reply, closing her eyes as she leaned into her father's embrace.

----

As expected, Peter didn't take her news of her departure well. Not in the least. He showed up in the doorway of the bedroom, Angela eyeing them before giving them time for their goodbyes. Between the disdainful look he gave the clothing she was packing and the fact he shut the door, she knew this wouldn't end well.

"You can't leave!"

"I have to." She met his gaze levelly for a moment, and shook her head furiously, sighing with frustration. "I'm sorry. I can't go around chasing some fantasy."

"It's not some fantasy!"

"Grow up, Peter! This isn't some fairytale. I'm not throwing my life away for you!"

His eyes blazed and he stepped closer, nostrils flaring as he stared at her. He grabbed her arm, pulling her roughly to him. "Christ, do you think I want it like this? I hate this. I wish I had never met you!"

The words resounded through the air between them as he released her as abruptly as if scalded. His stomach rolled, the nausea overwhelming as thoughts flew through his head. And he did the only thing he could think of. He ran.

He was breathing hard when he reached the family gardens, collapsing onto a bench. Somehow, he wasn't all that surprised when he heard the soft pitfalls of her footsteps not far behind him. A hand gently cupped his chin, turning his face toward her as she whispered softly, asking him to look at her.

He did as she asked, keeping himself frightfully still as revulsion filled him with the thought of his outburst of temper, his unintentional hurting of her. He had not meant to, he truly had not, but still the self-disgust rose in his throat, turned his stomach, refused to be displaced. Her fingers brushed through his hair, skimming downward to trace the curve of his cheek. The touch was whisper-soft, a ghostly contact, and he tried to draw back. Her hand around his arm stopped him, not by physical strength, but by verbal response to thoughts he hadn't realized he had spoken aloud. "Stop that. Stop punishing yourself. We've said worse things in anger before."

He nodded once, a firm affirmation, and she slid back into his arms, nestling against him. Her head against his chest, she focused on the steady cadence of his heartbeat, a strong, thundering rhythm that worked to reassure her.

He slipped his hands beneath his jacket and her sweater, only separated from her bare skin by the thin fabric of the chemise she wore. He traced his fingers gently along her back and sides, the warmth radiating from her soaking into him with every touch. He felt her body heat, her racing pulse, for she was warm and utterly alive under his touch, and he closed his eyes, clinging to that single reassurance.

"I love you," he whispered, nuzzling against her neck, "I'm sorry, but I can't stop."

He pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck, exhaling softly, his warm breath brushing against her skin. "Tell me. Give me the words. I'll stop bothering you. I won't ask anything else. Just tell me you still love me."

He drew back, enough to look her in the eye. She stared at him blankly, and then she slid her arms around his neck, kissing her gently. "I'm sorry, Peter."

She rose from his lap, turning her back to him as she began to walk away. She could feel his eyes on her, boring despondently into her back. She didn't dare to look back, couldn't stand the thought of seeing his heartbreak. She meant to deny him the words, make the hurt sudden instead of lingering, give him the chance to cut their ties and move on quicker. But the sound of a muffled sob reached her ears and she froze.

Peter Petrelli was a gentle soul, but he was a man, strong and resolute. She had only seen him cry once before in his life, and like now, it had been because of her. She couldn't deny him what he wanted. She never had.

"I love you, Peter."

The words carried back to him on the chill of the autumn wind, and it was all they could have as she walked away, leaving him alone in the silence.

----

If anything, they had to be given credit that they tried. They really did. They spent time apart, ached for each other but didn't speak of it, didn't show it. They buried the whole messy affair, hiding the shattered pieces of themselves deep below the surface. When they met again, they didn't touch, didn't speak, but passing by within inches of each other, fingers brushed briefly together, and eyes flickered to meet.

_Wait, _was the unspoken message, _We just have to wait_.

Someday would come when they would be ready to surrender, to give up everything and everyone else for each other. But until then, they would hold out, savor the time they had left until they chose to be selfish.

And meanwhile, those shattered pieces slowly began to heal, little by little. When their cracks finally fit back into place, stronger and more solid than before, they would know the time had come.

_End_


End file.
